Wartime Family (13 page)

Mary Anne stared into the distance. There had been something vaguely familiar about the writing. Did Stanley, her youngest son, write like that? Anger boiled inside her. How dare Henry do that? How dare he get Stanley to write for him! But what about Biddy Young? She could write; perhaps it had been her.

‘I hope you find somewhere,’ Edith said and patted her hand. ‘Good luck.’

Mary Anne made a sudden decision not to go to where Henry was living, but to seek him at work. Henry worked as a taxi driver. His usual pitch was outside Temple Meads Station.
That
, she decided,
is where I’ll find him.

The cabs were lined up alongside the colonnade. Nudges and sly whispers were exchanged as the drivers eyed her approach. She couldn’t see Henry’s cab and presumed he was out on a fare. She paused, nervously considering what she would say. The gathered cabbies recognized her and divided into two camps; not physically with their whole bodies, but in their eyes. Some simmered with hostility, others with conjecture: if she was sleeping with one man who wasn’t her husband, why not another?

They’re shameless
, thought Mary Anne, veering away at the last minute from the leering smiles, the secretive winks.

She headed into the station concourse and bought herself a platform ticket. She’d wait there if she had to. No doubt Henry would be told her whereabouts by one of his colleagues.

A ticket collector doffed his hat as he punched her ticket. She blushed and hurried on. Age had enhanced her looks. She had an elegance about her she had not owned in her youth. She’d been pretty, yes, but lots of young girls are pretty. Few women grow into elegance.

She sat on a bench. The smell of soot lay heavy in the air. Trains screeched and belched as they pulled in and out of the station with uncommon regularity. Uniformed men and women got on and got off, all going somewhere, all having been somewhere.

Glancing up at the station clock a while later revealed that she’d been there for half an hour. Henry had to be back by now. She passed back through the barrier, informing the ticket collector that she was just going out to see if her son had arrived.

‘But I will be back,’ she said lightly, flashing him a smile.

He promised not to charge her for another platform ticket when she got back. He doffed his hat again.

Just as she was approaching the wide entrance to the station incline, she saw Henry coming the other way. Her nerves tightened at the sight of him. The sites of old injuries throbbed anew as though warning her not to trust him, not to forget what he’d done.

His face brightened when he saw her. ‘Mary Anne!’

Despite her anger, Mary Anne felt that old nervousness taking hold of her. She clasped her hands together over the handle of her handbag. She wanted to run, but she also wanted to fight.

He eyed her quizzically. ‘Nash and the others told me you’d come in here. Are you going somewhere?’

‘I came to see you about this.’ She thrust the letter at him.

He frowned as he took it and spread it open. His eyes flickered between the letter and her. ‘You know I can’t read too well,’ he said gruffly and thrust it back to her. ‘What does it say?’

‘Do you get our Stanley to write letters for you?’

‘Sometimes he writes out my daily log for me.’

The daily log was where Henry recorded his fares and fees for the day. Someone in the family had always written it out for him. Stanley was now the only one who stayed with his father on a regular basis.

‘What does it say?’ Henry asked her again.

Mary Anne took a deep breath as she pushed it back into her handbag. ‘It slanders my name.’

He didn’t say anything, merely jerked his chin as though he understood exactly what she was saying.

‘Have you heard from our Harry?’

Mary Anne was taken aback. Father and son had never seen eye to eye.

‘He writes to me quite regularly.’

It was true. Like Michael he was based in England and did top-secret code-breaking work. Harry wrote regularly to his mother but not to his father. ‘What’s the point?’ he’d said in his letters. ‘He wouldn’t read them.’

Henry’s eyelids flickered as though he were censoring his thoughts before voicing them. ‘Did you ever hear from that lawyer bloke? I wouldn’t give ’im yer address, but I think that busybody friend of yours did.’

She shook her head. ‘Unfortunately, I think I was the wrong Mary Anne.’

Henry studied his feet as he spoke. ‘Understandable I suppose, seeing as yer family did have a few bob.’

Having no wish to bring up the past, she turned away. Her family had been reasonably well off. Henry had never had trouble with that – not until later, not until she had trusted him. ‘This damned war,’ he said suddenly. ‘I suppose the Yanks will come in when it’s all but over!’ She didn’t look back. ‘I have to go.’ He didn’t ask her where she was going and she wouldn’t tell him she was homeless. He’d only offer for her to stay with him and she wouldn’t do that. She
couldn’t
do that.

‘I still want you back, Mary Anne, even though you ’ave been living with yer fancy man,’ he called after her.

Mary Anne bristled. ‘Don’t call him that,’ she shouted back.

‘Get going then, and good riddance! Yer no better than yer friend Biddy Young. She’s got a fancy man too. Calls on ’er once a week when the young ’uns are at school – to ’ave a cup of a tea and a chat, she says. But I think we both know what that means don’t we? Eh? Yer both tarred with the same brush, and that’s the truth of it!’

His loud voice followed her down the incline to the main Bath Road. She winced at the sound of it, hating him saying those things. She wasn’t like Biddy! She wasn’t like Biddy at all!

Daw’s husband John had been lucky enough to get leave for Christmas and was making the most of it. Running a corner shop had some advantages for his Auntie Maria: she’d made a cake, cooked a chicken and had made a plum pudding from fresh plums pickled back in October. The custard was sweetened with a mix of honey and sugar saved over weeks from the rations. The flour used in the cake and pudding was boosted with breadcrumbs. The chicken had been reared from a little yellow chick bought the previous Easter.

Mary Anne sat on the opposite side of the table to Henry. Every so often he tried to catch her eye, but she made sure he didn’t. She could tell he had hoped for reconciliation. His merry expression turned morose. The corners of his mouth sagged with disappointment. His eyes followed the sherry bottle and the brown ales being passed around the table. He kept boasting that he had abstained for nearly a year. She didn’t believe him and her worst fears were realized when she saw him sip at a glass of sherry, then down it in one go.

She felt hot suddenly and excused herself. ‘I’m just going out back.’

The air outside was crisp and cold, the ground still covered with last night’s frost. She took great gasps of it, glad of the chill reddening her cheeks and clearing her head. Could she – dare she – go back in? Although her dress had long sleeves, she shivered. The door to the yard suddenly squeaked open.

‘You’ll catch your death standing there, Mother.’

‘Harry!’

Her big son wrapped her in his arms. ‘Merry Christmas, Mother.’ He kissed her.

‘Harry!’

She stroked his cheek, noting the extra hard lines that hadn’t been there when he’d gone away. His eyes looked deeper. Perhaps his thoughts were too.

‘I didn’t know you were coming home.’

‘It was a last-minute thing,’ he said as they strolled arm in arm back into the house. The warmth and the smell of roast chicken hit them. ‘That smells good,’ he added. ‘What’s the chance there’s some left for me?’

‘There’s bound to be. John’s Auntie Maria is Italian, remember.’

Mary Anne jerked at Harry’s arm, stopping him just short of the living-room door. ‘Your father’s in there, mind. And he’s just broken his pledge to be sober.’

She saw his features tighten, his eyes fix on the closed door. ‘You’re not back with him?’

‘Of course not. I was invited to Christmas lunch, and so was he. It’s a family thing and one way to make the rations go further.’

Harry’s expression was unchanged. ‘I don’t think this is a good idea. He’ll start on me, and then that’ll ruin it for everyone.’

Mary Anne didn’t argue. ‘Wait here. I’ll make my excuses and get my coat. You wait down in the yard.’

He nodded and whispered a brief agreement. She waited until he was out of sight before opening the door.

‘I’ve got a bit of a headache. I think I’ll go home. Do you want to come, Stanley?’

Stanley stopped stuffing a second helping of plum pudding into his mouth and shook his head. ‘I haven’t had me cake yet.’

Mary Anne smiled to herself. Stanley was a typical boy and stronger than he used to be.
Strange things happen in war
, she told herself.

John’s auntie insisted she take some food with her. ‘We must not let it go to waste,’ she said while wrapping cake and pudding in greaseproof paper and setting a pie dish filled with roast chicken and vegetables in the bottom of a brown paper carrier bag.

Daw wasn’t too disappointed that her mother was leaving early. John was home and she wanted time with him.

Henry got up from his chair and leaned on his knuckles. ‘I’ll see you out.’

Mary Anne was instantly filled with alarm. ‘No need. I can manage.’ But Henry insisted.

John’s Uncle Guido helped her into her coat. Henry looked put out, but she couldn’t help that.

Shouts of ‘Merry Christmas!’ sounded in the passageway behind her. Suddenly, so did the patter of small feet.

‘I’ve changed me mind,’ Stanley shouted. ‘I’ve got me cake.’ He waved a paper bag.

Mary Anne breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wouldn’t be left alone with Henry, though Stanley wasn’t that much of a deterrent. All she hoped now was that Henry would go back inside before seeing Harry; that way a quarrel might be avoided.

Attempting to swallow the lump in her throat, she stepped out into the yard. The air seemed even colder than before. She told herself that was what was causing her to shiver so intensely. Her fear lessened suddenly when she saw there was no sign of Harry. He was outside. He had to be.

Before she could make for the exit, Henry grabbed her arm. ‘I got half a bed if yer interested.’

She smelled the sweet sherry on his breath. She pulled away. ‘I’m going home.’

‘You ain’t got a home. Not a proper one.’

Mary Anne struggled. ‘Let me go.’

The light of perverted enjoyment shone in Henry’s eyes. ‘Yer still me wife, Mary Anne. I’ve still got me rights and I could drag you with me and no man would dare to stop me. D’you know that? No man could stop me!’

‘Let go of me mum!’

Henry had forgotten his youngest son. Stanley’s small fists pummelled his father’s side. His feet kicked Henry’s shins. Henry yelped and bent to protect his limbs from the well-aimed blows.

‘You beggar! You little beggar!’

Stanley grabbed his mother’s hand. ‘Quick, Mum. Come on!’

Mary Anne glanced over her shoulder. Henry had staggered and tripped against the steps leading up to the attic storeroom and was lying flat on his back.

Harry stepped forward just as she slammed the solid gate behind her. Stanley’s face was a picture, his eyes popping out of his head. But before he had a chance to shout his brother’s name, Mary Anne slapped her hand over his mouth.

‘It don’t sound as though me dad’s too happy,’ said Harry, looking bemused and taking her arm as they hurried along.

Mary Anne grinned. ‘Well at least he’s taking it lying down. He’s been at the sherry.’

Once they were out of earshot, Stanley wanted to know everything Harry had been up to.

‘Did you kill any Germans?’ he asked with an exuberance that left Mary Anne worrying what he would grow up to be.

‘Not directly. In a way I prefer to think that my work
saved
lives.’

‘Are you a spy?’ Now Stanley was almost bursting out of his skin with excitement.

‘Not quite. And stop asking me questions. It’s all very hush-hush. I mustn’t talk about it.’

Stanley wasn’t to be put off that easily. ‘You can tell me.’

Harry stopped suddenly, catching hold of Stanley’s shoulders and spinning him round and bending down so they were face to face. His voice was only a little above a whisper. ‘If I tell you what I do, we’ll both be in trouble. We’ll both be traitors, see, and you know what they do to traitors, don’t you, Stanley?’

Stanley gulped and his jaw fell open.

Harry made a gun shape with his hand and aimed it at Stanley’s chest. ‘Bang!’

Stanley just gaped at his brother. He swallowed. ‘Crikey!’

Harry slapped his brother on the back. ‘Come on. Let’s be going.’

Mary Anne smiled at her sons’ antics. She loved them both. She’d specifically not asked too much about Harry’s war work, but knew it was to do with crosswords and code-breaking. Stanley was less circumspect, but Harry’s response had given him food for thought. He was quiet for a while.

Mary Anne exchanged a smile with Harry, who winked. ‘Think I nipped that one in the bud. Now, Mother,’ he said, gripping her arm, ‘tell me what the matter is. And don’t say “nothing”. I can see it in your face.’

Stanley chose that moment to climb on to a low wall running alongside Victoria Park. Mary Anne was about to call him back, but Harry stopped her. ‘Let him have five minutes of fun. My car’s around the corner.’

Mary Anne’s eyes opened wide. ‘You’ve still got your car? How are you managing about petrol?’

Smiling, Harry tapped the side of his nose.

That was Harry. When hadn’t he had supply sources? She wondered if he was still involved in the black market, but then asked herself how he could be. He usually wore the uniform of the Royal Corps of Signals, but she knew he was doing more – much more – than that. Strangely enough the posting must suit him. He’d always been secretive, living on the edge of a shadowy world which she knew nothing about.

‘So,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘Tell me what you’ve been up to.’